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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26919301">The Destruction of Gallifrey</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/GroovyKat/pseuds/GroovyKat'>GroovyKat</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Doctor Who &amp; Related Fandoms, Gallifrey (Big Finish Audio)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-10-09</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-10-09</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-07 01:15:52</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Major Character Death</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>5,157</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26919301</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/GroovyKat/pseuds/GroovyKat</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>The Destruction of Gallifrey does not mean its defeat.   Irving Braxiatel and Narvin will see to that...</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>18</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>The Destruction of Gallifrey</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>I quit smoking nine days ago ... I'm in a very unfocused and very growly kind of mood as I fight this battle against the white stick...</p>
<p>I had to push myself to get anything done, including writing ... and because I am all mad and snarly over them killing off Gallifrey AGAIN, I figured I would expel my anger and frustration and general quitting smoking aggression by writing a fix-it of sorts...  I refuse to accept Gallifrey's demise.... REFUSE.....</p>
<p>Warning:  Character death.   And a little bit of Doctor bashing ... And while the contents aren't entirely accurate to what's happened to now, please remember that Brax is unhappy right now, and he's going to lash out.  </p>
<p>I hope you enjoy.....</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>One thing nature proved beyond all doubt was that it was willing and ready to take over any and all former habitations once the occupants had abandoned it.  It didn’t matter what materials were used in its construction, once nature had deemed it necessary to reclaim it, it was cultivated back within the surrounding landscape.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>It should have hardly been surprising, then, that the cavernous, circular room that sat as the hub of the Axis Complex had been reclaimed by nature.  After all, it had to have been at least a half millennium since anyone was last here…</p>
<p> </p>
<p>…Or quite likely more than that.   It seemed that Time really was moving at an incalculable rate these days.  Incalculable even for a Time Lord.   That was saying something…</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Irving Braxiatel strode silently through the organic carpet of thick and meaty red and purple vines that seemed to leak in from oval-shaped doorways to alternate versions of his home planet.   Well.  At least once upon a time they were glowing roundels toward alternate Gallifreys.   All that stood in place now were dull and silent black holes toward nothing.  Black holes that held open like a howling mouth vomiting out snake-like vines of red and purple.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Quite disgusting, really.   The smell of it, that musty, earthy scent of rotting organics leeching into every single available crevice to create solid bedding for new and more robust growth.  That smell singed at his nostrils to pull his nose up to an expression of disgust over awe toward the resilience of nature.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The patent leather soles of his expensive wingtip shoes slipped on the occasional pebble of grime and ooze that had been expirated from wounds sustained from what must have been animal attacks.  There was no other sense to be made of just what else could wound a thick and hardy vine in such a manner.  Rodent teeth were the most likely culprit.  Filthy creatures on any planet in his mind.  Indiscriminating, vile little creatures contentedly spreading their disease across species, across lands, across worlds.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Much like a few Time Lords he’d encountered throughout his lives; filthy, pathetic creatures so blind to their own arrogance and fury that they were no better than the mindless pig-rats that scarpered through the filth and darkness inside the catacombs beneath the Capitol. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Movement near the downward stride of his right foot, and Braxiatel looked downward toward a small, slimy, slithering creature worming its way out of a puncture hole of a vine.   He kept his heel on the ground but hovered the ball of his foot an inch and a half above the creature.   There was a light tilt of curiosity in the angle of his head toward it, but that curiosity lasted only a moment.  He wsaw a shape in his peripheral and shifted his attention toward a shattered and broken shell of a structure toward the centre of the room.  His foot came down hard on the small creature.  With a light crack and a squelch, its short time for existence was gone, reduced to nothing but a thick film of goo on the bottom of Braxiatel’s shoe…</p>
<p> </p>
<p>…Like so many creatures before it; insects and Time Lords alike.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Braxiatel finally stopped his forward stride on a bare patch of rusted metal on the floor.   His hands curled into fists to press into his hips, and he held his shoulders back to lift his head high.   He looked toward the destroyed outer shell of a Dalek with a glare of disgust down along the bridge of his nose.  Like the rest of the complex, the Dalekanium skirt of the creature had been claimed by the thick tendrils of nature as much as the rest of this structure had.   Leaves and vine curled around each of the rounded balls in a sticky, smelly, leafy frame.  Once upon a time those roundels would have been so shiny that he’d been able to see his own upside-down reflection echoing back at him.  Right now, all he could see of himself inside those rusted metal balls was his own shadow.  He was fine with that.  He imagined his current state of appearance was best not being reflected from any surface.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>His escape from the Cybermen forces was without his typical finesse.  Full of trips, stumbles, and broken profanities, he’d fought as long as he could before facing no other option than to rush into his capsule and find his freedom.   His staser and his pin-point precision aim were useless against such a force, particularly when a Cyber would simply regenerate into a more dangerous version of itself.  He quickly realized it was a pointless battle.  </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Now I know how you felt at war against my people,” he remarked coolly toward what remained of a Dalek helmet laid on its side in amongst a sea of purple and red.  “An army that could resurrect itself over and over…” he drew in a breath and let it explode out through his lips with a spray of dirt and spittle.  “And over again.”   He lifted his eyes and grazed his glare across the reclaimed floor toward a vine-covered console.   Very slowly he let his eyes close in a slow blink.  He drew in a breath, opened his eyes into a somewhat tired hooded expression, then slowly walked toward the console.  </p>
<p> </p>
<p>It was a mess of organic vines as much as it was a mess of plastic and electronics, and without pause to reflect, he quickly set about taking a tight grasp of the leafy alien invaders to haul them off the panels he needed to gain access to.   The resistance of nature was always stronger than the resistance of a plastic coated wire, and Braxiatel found it quite the effort to free the small space on the console he needed cleared.   The thick vine arms squelched and split, coating his hands in thick goo and slime.  A few violent flicks of his hand removed the bulk of it.   He wiped what remained of the sludge on his waistcoat, but doubted he’d really done more than add red dirt and dust to the slime rather than properly wiping his fingers free of it.  He didn’t bother to look at this fingertips nor his nails as he spaced his fingers on a sticky and rusted keyboard and waited for the system to register his biodata and warm up ready for instruction.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>There was no whir underneath the pads of his fingers, but he heard the telltale zipper-sound of a tear forming inside the fabric of reality behind him.   Immediately, Braxiatel sent out a hard and cutting telepathic sweep of both warning and investigation as to who it was who had breached this sanctuary.  His telepathic arm was thrust away by the mental shove of another Lord of Time.  The somewhat clumsy nature of it brought a smile at the very corner of his mouth.  He didn’t bother to look behind him to offer any polite greeting.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Coordinator,” he muttered low instead.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Lord Cardinal,” came a reply that was far more gruff and hoarse than usual. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Braxiatel let his head move slowly to look over his shoulder toward the intruder.  Any form of biting remark that rested on the very tip of his tongue fell aside to dribble out the corner of his mouth when he saw the hunched, defeated, and emotionally destroyed image of one of his oldest friends standing half in and half out of the shadows.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>No part of Narvin’s usually pristinely kept robe and tabard combination was in any real identifiable shape.  What wasn’t covered in red, brown, and black muds, bloods, and other ooze, was stretched, ripped and torn.   Even the black boots on his feet were a mass of cuts, burns and tears.    Narvin looked as though he’d walked a pathway of hot coals onto a path of razer-pointed spikes that had been submerged underneath thick swamp…</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Braxiatel wished that description might have summed up the worst of him, but unfortunately it represented the best part of the man right now.    In his eyes were obvious signs of defeat, well at least one of them anyway.  His right eye was a puffy mess of purple that was swollen shut.  The trail of crimson-orange blood from a half-inch cut across his eyebrow split to roll down either side of his swollen eye and rejoined directly underneath.   It was a sick, bloody makeup effect that bordered his injury perfectly to make it look far worse than it was.  Although Braxiatel knew this, the visage of it sent a pinprick stab of a shudder down along his spine, but that shudder was nowhere near as emotionally grinding to him as the failing hold Narvin had on the broken woman who lay across his arms.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He gulped but tried hard to shield his own emotions.  “Leela.  Is she…?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I couldn’t save her,” Narvin admitted with a croak in his voice.  “I tried, Brax.  I tried the best I could, but with Leela, you know…”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Braxiatel held up his hand and slowly shook his head.  “You don’t protect and save her,” he said quietly.  “Leela protects and saves you.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“And she did,” Narvin admitted as he curled his arms upward to lift Leela’s defeated body up toward his forehead.   All he wanted to do was to bury his face into her bosom, to dissolve and to weep in the hope it would wake her so she could tell him to stop being so weak-minded.   He couldn’t quite achieve that position and made do with holding her tight against his chest instead.  He couldn’t lift his head to address Braxiatel with any show of respect of propriety.   “Leela died to protect me.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Sounds like her.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“She believed I’d be the last of us,” he croaked out with heavy emotion staining his voice.  “And so, I had to live on, so the Time Lords could survive.”  He let out a laugh.  “Me!  Like I’m worth that kind of sacrifice.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Leela believed so,” Braxiatel replied rather coolly as he took his gaze off his friend and looked back to the unresponsive console. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Leela was the last of her kind,” Narvin said with a low growl. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“And Leela believed you were the last of yours.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“But…”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Don’t minimise or insult her sacrifice like this, Narvin,” Braxiatel warned with a sneer.  “You might not think you’re worthy, and quite frankly, neither do I, but Leela did.”  He flicked his eyes upward to him, staring at the disheveled man through the hair of his eyebrows.  “And as she was the one to make that sacrifice, her opinion on it is the only one that matters.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Narvin held her body closer to his own chest.  He didn’t speak, but the slow shake of his head spoke the doubt and the pain inside his mind loudly enough.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“For reasons I will never fathom, Narvin, Leela loved you,” he said quietly.  “And whether or not either of you ever got the chance to openly admit to each other the depths of the feeling you had for each other, I’m quite sure it was as obvious to the two of you as it was to the rest of us.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“We weren’t like that,” Narvin warned under his breath.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“No,” he replied with an inhale as he lowered into a low crouch to determine just why this console wasn’t roaring to life as it should.  “I imagine you weren’t.”  His face tightened up to a wince as he carefully weaved his hand through a web of wiring.  “Full of hot air, words, self assurance and arrogance…”  He exhaled through his nose as he tugged a wire.  “Yet, you’re the most insecure of any of us.  All bark, yet no real bite.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The level of offence taken by that remark was clear by the growl Narvin emitted from deep inside the back of his throat.  “Just what are you saying?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“While I don’t believe you incapable of that depth of emotion, I certainly find you incapable of actually acting on it.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Is this really the time for this?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>His voice was lightly strangled as he tugged on a stubborn piece of vine that was preventing him access.  “As there is nothing else of note to discuss right now, yes.”  He exhaled a grunt when the vine finally gave.  “Identifying and commenting on the failings of your character have always proven to be not only a decent time waster, but also something that makes <em>me</em> feel much better….”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“About your own failings,” Narvin offered with a huff.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Braxiatel leaned his forearm along the top lip of the console and looked toward Narvin.  He held his forehead within the thumb and forefinger of that hand.  “I realise you are in an awkward and delicate state of self right now, but if you can find it within you, I could do with some help.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“What are you trying to do?” he asked gruffly. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Tying to get this thing to work,” he replied with a huff.   “And after nearly six centuries of complete inactivity, it’s dead.  Completely dead.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Not quite,” Narvin replied on a straight tone.  “I believe I know what the issue with it is.   Just give me a moment.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Braxiatel didn’t rise from his crouch, quite honestly he didn’t know if he’d be wholly successful at doing so without having to strain and groan past his own invisible aches and pains.   He held himself in place with deep breaths and watched Narvin move through the motions required before he could offer any help.    He would never admit out loud to anyone just how much his hearts ached with empathy toward his oldest friend as Narvin slowly lowered down through a bent knee to tenderly place Leela’s torn and battered body inside a cradle of purple and red.   He leaned forward to press his forehead against hers and softly murmured something indecipherable inside a puff of breath against her lips.   Something he clearly only wanted her to hear, which she may well have done if she were still alive.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I am so sorry,” Braxiatel muttered on a low whisper.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“So am I,” Narvin admitted with a tear in his eye and a lump in the very back of his throat.  He stroked one hand down to smooth out Leela’s hair, dropped a small kiss to her forehead, then drew up to a stand.  Every part of him was rigid straight, except the dip in his head to look down at her.  “Aside from the two of us, were there any survivors?”  He drew in a deep breath.  “Romana?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“She was one of the first he took,” Braxiatel answered with a hard edge to his voice.   He used the anger to that to pull himself up to a stand, thankful to have that as an excuse for the grunt required to get him up to his full height.  “Romana is – <em>was</em> - one of the few Time Lords the Doctor actually liked.  Who better to start the conversions with than her?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Narvin’s hands closed into fists at his side.  He quickly marched toward the Console; his eyes darkened with fury.  “And just what does your…”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Everything,” Braxiatel snarled to halt Narvin’s words exactly where they were before his relationship to the renegade Time Lord could be voiced out loud.  “The Doctor has <em>everything</em> to do with this.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“How so?” Narvin asked with a pinch of his eyes as he slowed to a stand on the other side of the console from Braxiatel.  He folded his arms across his chest, not bothering to attempt to hide his arms underneath his tabard as he usually would.   “I thought this was all at the Master’s hand?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Braxiatel rewarded Narvin with his most tired and long-suffering expressions of incredulity and condescension.  “I really shouldn’t need to dignify that with any type of answer.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“No,” Narvin breathed out, seeming to agree with Braxiatel’s response.  “You really shouldn’t.   The rivalrous and ridiculous game one-upmanship the Master seems to want to wage against the Doctor is legendary to say the very least.”  </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Yes, indeed.”</p>
<p>“However, the notion that he would use Gallifrey as a pawn in this game of theirs is abhorrent.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Braxiatel looked down at the console and bit at his lip as he scanned the array of buttons and dials in the hope he could figure out how to give it some power.  His eyes didn’t lift at all when he finally did dare add to Narvin’s words.  “No more abhorrent than his use of other planets in the same way.” He drew in a breath and exhaled long.  “Gallifrey isn’t the first planet to fall victim to this game of theirs, and I doubt it will be the last.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“He needs to be stopped,” Narvin said with a growl.  “He should never have been allowed to leave Gallifrey in the first place.  Never.”  He looked toward Braxiatel and watched as the man searched the console for hope to get it working.  “Have you tried pressing the <em>on</em> button?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“There’s an on button?” he replied with a lift in his brows.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“And an off one,” Narvin drawled.  He leaned forward and wove his fingers beneath a purple vine to flick at a switch.   Almost immediately the console lit up with life.  “Which I used six hundred years ago to shut this down when we left the Axis – we hoped – for good.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Hope is a cruel virtue,” Braxiatel muttered.   He shifted the pads of his fingers back onto the keyboard and drew in a deep breath.  “One can’t live without it, yet it rarely rewards those who hold onto it.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“And do we have any?” Narvin questioned quietly with a slow blink of his eyes.  “Any <em>hope</em> at all?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Some,” Braxiatel replied under his breath as he lowered his eyes to the tips of his fingers as they raced across the keyboard.   “A small measure of it.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>A whirring sound filled the large room.  There was the scuttle of tiny little rodent feet scarpering into hiding, a hiss of steam from underneath some of the meatiest arms of vine, and then a whooshing roar that raced across the walls as each and every one of the darkened windows lit up to a brilliant life.  Narvin watched with a flick of his eyes toward each new sparking, spindling oval of blue and white light that opened windows to several other alternate Gallifreys.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Don’t tell me you want us to go back in there,” he started with a growl.  “Walk through any one of those in search of a new Gallifrey to try and survive in.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Even if it meant you would still have Leela, Romana, the entire council, your own CIA operatives?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Not one of them <em>mine</em>,” Narvin said on a low voice.  “Not even partially so.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“No,” Braxiatel drawled quietly under his breath.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“We’ve already tried this route once before,” Narvin said with a low whisper of breath.  “When the four of us escaped the Dogma virus.  We’ve been there.  We’ve seen it.  And yes, they’re <em>all</em> Gallifrey.  Everyone I have ever known <em>is</em> there…”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“But in name only,” Braxiatel agreed with a nod of his head and an exhale of breath.  “Yes.  I understand.”   He pushed off the console with a shove of his hands and slowly navigated a pathway toward one of the windows.  “There is only one Gallifrey for us … for any of us.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Our Gallifrey no longer exists,” Narvin managed dryly.  He didn’t walk to follow Braxiatel, but he let his eyes trace the man’s movements toward a single spinning ring of light.  “The Master saw to that, didn’t he?”   He sniffed with disgust.  “A billion Daleks couldn’t do to Gallifrey in five hundred years what the Master accomplished in mere days.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“You’re giving that fool far too much credit,” Braxiatel warned.  “We weren’t defeated by the Master, nor by the Cybers.  We were, when you think about it, destroyed by ourselves.”   He stopped in front of a window and folded his arms tightly across his chest to look deeply through the portal toward a red, dusty planet beyond.  “The Cybers, the Master, they were just vessels.  They were just the excuse needed to finally put an end to…”   He drew in a long breath.  “…To everything.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“But why?”  Narvin questioned with a pinch in his brow and a whine in his voice.  “Why would we want to destroy ourselves?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Braxiatel let out a laugh.  “We are a society of emotionless, arrogant, pompous, fools, Narvin.  Each one of us believing we were better than the next.  Dreaming of the ways we could destroy our council opposition if ever we got the chance to do so.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Speak for yourself,” Narvin muttered.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Braxiatel held up a hand in a dismissive gesture.  “And what perfect method by which to act on those desires we’ve always had but never could?”  His eyes flared and he lowered his voice for dramatics.  “But as a Cyber, oh, what a perfect excuse.  Destroy your fellow Time Lord without blame nor repercussion.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“But to what end?” Narvin snapped out with a harsh breath.  “What good does it serve you to have yourself turned into a Cyber just so you can commit murder and mayhem.  You get nothing from it.  Nothing at all.”  He sniffed.  “Just a life as a mindless robot led by a complete madman.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“No different to life in the Capitol as a Time Lord, is it?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I suppose not,” he answered with a sigh.  He finally made the move to walk toward Braxiatel.  He took position at Braxiatel’s side and slipped his hands to a cradle underneath his black tabard.   There was sadness inside his eyes as he looked upon what remained of Gallifrey.   It was no longer in flames.   It was barely a structure in char.  It was little more than a blackened sandcastle on a lonely beach just waiting for a good gust of wind or solid wave to finish it completely.  “What do we do from here?” he asked after a moment.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Braxiatel sniffed in a deep breath, his inhale made far more of a wettened noise than was typical, and Narvin quickly shifted his head to look up the couple of inches of height he had on him.  Braxiatel stared straight ahead into the portal and while his expression was hardened into his typical scowl of displeasure toward the sight ahead of them, he was clearly more distraught than furious right now.   The single tear that rolled down along his cheek and over his jaw was testament to that…</p>
<p> </p>
<p>…Narvin chose not to remark on it at all.  He shifted his head back to the portal and asked the question once more, this time in a quieter tone of voice that held just as much devastation within it as he suspected Braxiatel felt right now.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“We rebuild,” Braxiatel answered with little more than a whisper.  “Although right now, I’m asking just what the point of it would be.”  He drew in a long breath.  “I’m tiring of finding ways to save Gallifrey when no one seems to want it to survive and continue on.”   He swallowed thickly.  “No one but the four of us, it seems:  You, me, Leela …”  He drew in a shaking breath and spoke in a broken whisper.  “…Romana.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“For what it’s worth for you to hear this from me, I’m sorry you couldn’t save her.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“But I can save what she fought for,” he answered carefully.  “The planet she gave her life for.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“How?” Narvin asked with a definite whine in his voice.   His eyes tightened and his shoulders stiffened.  “We’re left with four Time Lords in the entire universe.  One of them a mad, mad fool who should be tossed into the nearest black hole.  Another, who thrives in destroying the political infrastructure of her home, upend and throw it into chaos, then take off in their TARDIS never looking back – leaving the likes of the two of us to clean up the mess they leave behind.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“There was a time that the Doctor would fight for Gallifrey and defend her fiercely,” Braxiatel said quietly.  His eyes were still locked on the teetering remains of the Capitol dome in the distance.  “Something happened, something changed.  And he…”  He exhaled hard to correct himself.  “They, decided that Gallifrey was no longer worth their time of day.  No longer willing to fight.  No longer wanting to defend.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“The Doctor fought,” Narvin argued lightly.  “In the Time War.  I know.  I was there.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“They were there for barely half of it,” Braxiatel snarled.  “And even then it came down to them having to be forced into it.  Fight, or die, Doctor.”   He sniffed.  “And as arrogant as the rest of us, they chose to remain in the universe, their penance for being able to continue to live on:  to fight for Gallifrey and all of reality.   Just like the rest of us did <em>without</em> having to be cajoled into it.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“The Doctor <em>saved</em> Gallifrey,” Narvin reminded his old friend.  “if it wasn't for the interference of thirteen of their incarnations at that final hour, Gallifrey would have been destroyed.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Braxiatel snorted.  “Yes, and then what did they do?  Hmmm?”  He turned his head to look toward Narvin.  There was a darkness inside his eyes.   “When they finally returned to Gallifrey, they exiled our president, our entire council, committed murder against one of theirown, then fled the disaster they left behind like the coward they are.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Left us to clean up their mess, yes.”   He drew in a breath.  "We had barely stabilized our political structure, or economy, and so soon after recovering from the war..."</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“My …I mean, <em>The Doctor</em> is a thoughtless, selfish, irresponsible fool.”  He exhaled hard through his nose.  “So eager to tell everyone else where they're wrong, how they're wrong in that self righteous manner of theirs -- but does the Doctor actually have a plan for the aftermath of their actions?  No.  It's up to people like us to clean up their mess and suffer the consequences.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Narvin chose to abruptly end the conversation at that juncture.  There was no sense in continuing it, to further drive up the fury inside Braxiatel.   If he did continue to push, he’d more likely drive his old friend toward hunting down the Doctor to further lessen the critically low number of Time Lords that remained in the universe.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“How do we rebuild?” he asked instead.   His eyes were on the broken Citadel in the distance, and he fought against the ache in the back of his throat.   “We certainly can’t expect the Doctor nor the Master to take part in any rebuilding efforts.”  He sniffed in deeply.  “And there is little to no chance that the two of us have what it takes to …”  he coughed.  “Replenish the stocks as it were.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I’d much rather Gallifrey return to dust and never rise again,” Braxiatel admitted.   “I will be fine without it.  I have places to go.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I’m not as fortunate.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“You will have a place in this universe, Narvin,” Braxiatel said quietly.  “I will see to that.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“In turn I will be forced to owe you one.  I'd rather end up alone and destitute.”    He shook his head then drew in a deep breath and looked toward Braxiatel with a pinch of curiosity in his eyes.  “You actually do have a plan for this, don’t you?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I may,” he answered slowly.  “I will need to see if the archive is still here, and if it is still powered.  If it was still accepting uploads from Gallifrey over the centuries…”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Narvin’s eyes flared wide.  “The Biodata archive,” he said with a gasp of realisation.  “It’s here.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“It is,” Braxiatel said slowly.  “At least I believe that it is still here.   To the best of my knowledge it was never retrieved, nor accessed.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Extracts from every single Time Lord, every one of their incarnations, right up until the Centrepoint of the era of Romana,” Narvin managed out with a small measure of awe in his voice. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“My intention was use that archive to rebuild if Gallifrey was to fall to the Dogma virus,” Braxiatel said carefully.  “Which wasn’t needed.  Gallifrey rebuilt herself.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“And how do we rebuild?” Narvin queried.  “The archive is the key to rebuilding, but what is the vessel?”  </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I’ll trace back along my timeline, arrange for looms to be delivered to a safe, remote location separate from here.” </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“You will?” Narvin questioned suspiciously.  “Or you already have?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He drew in a deep breath through his nose.  “I already have. There is a location in the Ulxits sector, near Om’uns, which I’ve ensured is secure from the Master’s grasp.  Only I know of the correct temporal coordinates.  My younger incarnations have been working on this for … quite some time.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“And you didn’t think to warn anyone?” Narvin said with a light sneer.  “And prevent the losses we cannot resurrect.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Braxiatel shook his head slowly.  His eyes were still on the broken Citadel; wide and unfocused.  “Don’t ask me that question, because you already know the answer.”  He drew in a breath.  “I lost as much as you did, Narvin.  Don’t think for a moment that my hearts aren’t suffering like yours are.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I didn’t…”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“And I had more to lose than you did,” he reminded him sharply.  “So much more than you.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I know, and I’m sorry.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Braxiatel blinked his eyes to a slow close and drew in a deep breath.  His inhale was a shaking and shuddered sound of absolute and utter devastation.   The breath developed into a long yet quiet whimper of pain when he watched a strong swirling wind race across the ruins of Gallifrey in front of them.  The entirely of the planet seemed to fall into dust at that moment, any sign of civilization reduced to rusted brown powder swirling along the winds.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Gallifrey will rise again,” Narvin vowed on a breath he tried so hard to hold strong in the face of the final destruction of his world ahead of him.  “It will.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“And we will be stronger,” Braxiatel agreed after a swallow.   “A more powerful people who won’t be brought toward extinction again by a single mad fool.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The two men remained quiet for a moment as they stared into the portal at the remains of what was once a vibrant and beautiful planet.   Portals to the left, to the right, and fully surrounding them were filled with the scenes and sounds of bustling landscapes and a planet still teeming with life.  They both ignored it to focus only on the home they’d lost…  But would ultimately rebuild.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Best we start then,” Braxiatel said after a moment.   Emotion was now completely absent from his tone, and he spoke with the typical impassive flare in his tone.  “No sense in wallowing inside this nonsense.”   He gestured toward the end of the room, toward a tall silver cylinder against the wall.  “Our transport awaits.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I don't own Doctor Who, nor Gallifrey, nor anything else remotely fun.  I don't even own this laptop......</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Oh, and yes, I do realise that Brax ran from the war as well... and we really haven't heard from him since he recorded his Dear Jane letter for Romana ... but I am going to guess that he comes back in some rather spectacular way for the last series (because he's Brax and he does that) ... and survives the war ....   so no need to remind me about that....</p></blockquote></div></div>
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